


There But For the Grace of Castiel

by Unforth



Series: I Dream of Deanie [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Butt Plugs, Castiel's Point of View, Destiel - Freeform, Grace Kink, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porny Plot, Sex Toys, There's Actually a Little Plot, There's No Word for Castiel's Sexuality, Top Dean, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:29:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I Dream of Deanie" Part 6. Castiel thinks he's prepared for everything as regards his and Dean's relationship. He's in for a few surprises. Destiel PWP. Set vaguely S5ish. Continuation of "This Story is Definitely Not About a Date," continued in "Moonlight and Water."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There But For the Grace of Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> Part 6 of the "I Dream of Deanie" series.
> 
> Part 1: "Can't Hold a Man's Dreams Against Him"  
> Part 2: "The First Time, Again"  
> Part 3: "They're Good For Your Heart"  
> Part 4: "Emotional Constipation"  
> Part 5: "This Story is Definitely Not About a Date"
> 
> Sorry I didn't get this up yesterday as promised - I need to stop promising that stuff - it needed a lot more editing than I expected, and got 5k words longer in the reworking, too...
> 
> Over on FF.net I got a question from a guest, asking why - in Part 5 - Castiel knew about the Men of Letters, given that I indicate that the stories are set around S5.
> 
> Let me be clear: unlike the writers, I am not constrained by poor planning. The writers clearly had not conceived of the Men of Letters at that point in the story, yet the Men of Letters - while secret - are an international organization that endured for centuries. Considering that the angels make it clear that they've been watching Dean and Sam's lineage since the time of Cain and Abel, it's utterly impossible that they don't know about the Men of Letters. So, I included it. Ditto mentioning Eve and Purgatory. As an angel, how could Castiel *not* know about that?
> 
> In general, a few notes on the actual "canon" point for this story.  
> 1\. I haven't actually thought about it much. This is PWP I'm writing for fun and I'm really not that worried about it.  
> 2\. It is definitely canon divergence, and not just because Destiel.  
> 3\. Based on things I've written and events I've alluded to, the story is post-apocalypse, and likely after the end of S5.  
> 4\. ...but Sam is alive and well.  
> 5\. ...but Castiel has his mojo back.  
> 6\. If you force me to explain it, blah blah blah Lucifer's vessel blah blah Michael blah blah Adam Milligan blah blah everything in Swan Song happens blah blah blah God resurrects Castiel who saves Bobby and somehow protects/saves/Idon'tevenknowdon'taskmedidn'tIsaythiswasPWP Sam. I think the Host has left, too. I don't know why. And Chuck Shurley isn't God. Cause to tell a guilty secret, I *hate* that.  
> 7\. Nothing in S6 or afterwards happens. They go back to hunting. Though I've mentioned a few bits and pieces of hunts, I'd guess they spend a lot of time dealing with demons and trying to stuff Hell back into Hell.  
> 8\. Not that any of that matters, because PLOT, WHAT PLOT?
> 
> As a note on my own fandom - for me, Supernatural jumped the shark at 9.03. While I know various spoilers after that point, I've not seen any of the episodes. Watching three episodes of Dean making all the same mistakes, culminating in him sending away a human, vulnerable, Cas - after S8 gave SO many signs of Destiel - was more than I was prepared to accept. I'm sure I'll watch it eventually. I've been part of this fandom for more than 6 years, and I obviously still love the show and ship Destiel more than I've ever shipped any ship that ever shipped. Further, while I've watched S1 through S4 in the past year or two, I've not watched the entirety of any subsequent season since I first watched them while they were coming out (though I've seen individual episodes numerous times, such as Changing Channels). 
> 
> So, for example, I can't remember if some of the things I say in this story violate canon. I did my best, and even did a little research to remind myself, but otherwise...just go with it. :)
> 
> Thanks for bearing with this silly long author's note. I hope you like this story. I've been waiting to publish it for five dang weeks while I got the preceding events to a point that this all would make sense, so I'm pretty excited to finally share it.
> 
> Oh, and be warned - this story is a smut/angst layer cake. Literally. They alternate. But there's no buttercream. I'm sorry. If I could send frosting through the internet, I would. Cause I went to culinary school and am classically trained as a pastry chef and I make *damn* good buttercream. So pretend your eating cake. Or actually eat cake. Or pie. Pie is also amazing. And...I think I've lost the train of this analogy. Shutting up now. :)
> 
> Enjoy! :) :)

“Excuse me,” Castiel said as he rose from the table. “I’ll be back in a few moments.” Dean and Sam both stared at him and he muttered a silent invective. He didn’t think he’d said anything amiss, yet there must have been something off in his inflection or word selection to prompt such expressions from the brothers.

“What’s up, Cas?” asked Dean, a hint of concern in his voice. Dean was intent on Castiel, which meant he didn’t see the gentle quirk of Sam’s lips as he watched his brother and the angel interact.

“It’s nothing, Dean,” embarrassment and uncertainty brought out the rasp in Castiel’s voice. “I have to use the restroom.” Sam laughed incredulously and Dean blinked at him. “Excuse me.” Turning on a heel, he strode to the back of the bar and down the narrow hallway to the men’s room, denying the temptation to glance back and see if they’d reacted further to his foolish revelation. Despite all his forethought and planning, he’d handled the situation badly. Dean wasn’t supposed to learn until later that Castiel had stepped away to the bathroom, only that he was leaving for a few minutes. Entering into the room, he released a soothing sigh as he leaned against the back of the door. The room was brightly lit, a shocking contrast to the dim, dingy bar, clean white tile and the smell of pine and lemon so thick that the air was cloying.

Ignoring the urinals, he went to the larger of two blue-walled stalls and locked himself in.

From the pocket of his trench coat, Castiel removed the two items that had been burning a hole through the cloth and straight into his brain all evening – a bottle of lubricant, brand new and still wrapped in plastic, and a stubby, matte black butt plug. He set them on top of the toilet paper dispenser. Removing his coat, he hung it from the door and took a deep breath.

Was he really going to do this?

Yes, yes he was.

To date, Castiel’s nights – and occasional mornings and afternoons – with Dean followed clear patterns. Neither man planned ahead, but Dean seized the initiative and instructed Castiel on what he should do. While the results were invariably extremely gratifying, Castiel felt like he was along for the ride. It was a blissfully good ride, and had only gotten better as they’d gotten more comfortable with each other and learned how their bodies worked best together. However, Castiel felt guilty and lazy. Based on Castiel’s abortive attempts to take the lead, he’d learned that while sex was pleasurable regardless, the person asserting control always had to hold back some of themselves from the experience, always had to think about where and how to touch, what action to engage in next, how long to delay requested gratification – in short, Dean could never lose himself completely in pleasure, because he was too busy trying to make sure that Castiel was losing himself in pleasure. The inequity of it was unacceptable. Castiel wanted to do something as good for Dean as Dean regularly did for him.

Castiel had a plan. He wasn’t going to let the fact that he’d erred within the first minute deter him from the plan.

The bathroom had always been the most vulnerable point in the plan, Castiel reflected as he undid his belt and dropped his pants and boxers. It was a foolish indulgence. He could have made any excuse or none at all and vanished, gone anywhere in the world to complete his preparations. That had been his original intention. He fumbled at the shrink wrapped plastic around the top of the lubricant bottle, frustrated as it resisted his attempts to remove it. In a moment of harried, lust-driven insight, it had occurred to him that the entire process would be considerably more arousing if Dean was close. Castiel had pictured how it would feel to know that he risked discovery not only by Dean but by anyone else who entered the bathroom. He’d imagined Dean’s reaction when he learned that Castiel had prepared himself for sexual relations while Dean, unaware, was nearby. Though cooler heads had suggested that the risks were too great, Castiel had not been able to put the idea from his head.

The plastic finally tore free. Priming the bottle, Castiel squeezed some of the thick, chill liquid onto his hand and massaged it between his fingers, coating them and allowing the lubricant to warm. Leaning forward, he gripped the bathroom safety bar with one hand, thrust his butt back, and reached around his body. A shudder ran through him as he ran a moistened finger over his entrance. He’d not done this himself before. The feeling was familiar yet subtly different, a tingling in the sensitive fingertip matching the sparks of pleasure spurred by his touch and by his anticipation. Closing his eyes, nipping his lip to keep silent, Castiel pressed in. Tight muscle resisted the intrusion, and he huffed a breath at how it felt when his own body clenched around his finger. A new thought struck him, what it might feel like to have his cock surrounded in the same way, to bury himself within Dean. Inexplicably, it had never occurred to him before, and until now he’d had no frame of reference to imagine how it might feel. For an instant, the thought was entirely overwhelming, an enormous surge of desire originated from his rapidly hardening cock and pulsed through every extremity, leaving his knees weak. That bore further investigation, but was not today’s temptation.

With slow, careful half-thrusts, Castiel worked himself open, applying pressure to his interior walls as he urged the muscles to relax. His skin tingled at the slightest touch, sending waves of expectation through him. His breath came in increasingly throaty huffs as he found a rhythm, reveling in the feeling of filling himself, in the clench around his finger, in the movement within his butt. He paused long enough to press a second lubricated finger in, then resumed his ministrations, eying the plug. Two fingers should be enough for him to insert the toy. It wasn’t as large as Dean, wasn’t as thick as three fingers.

The bathroom door bathroom slammed open and Castiel started, drawing blood from his lip to keep from groaning. His entire body clenched around his fingers as they froze, and he couldn’t prevent himself from wiggling against his hand, urging himself to continue. Ripples of pleasure clashed with the need to be silent and still until the danger passed. The whisper of fear merged with the good feelings and enhanced them, shivering through him.

“Cas, man, what the fuck?” demanded Dean. He sounded angry in that distinctive way he lost his temper when he was worried. Castiel’s head dropped and he stifled a helpless chuckle, suspecting that it would come out as a whimper. Castiel was hot and needy and Dean was feet away and all he had to do to get what he craved was ask. The only thought more enticing than giving in and begging Dean to help him was the prospect of forestalling, of self-denial, of anticipation, of eventual blissful release.

“It’s nothing, Dean,” Castiel replied as reassuringly as he could.

“Bullshit!” snapped Dean. The gap beneath the door gave a view of Dean’s boots as he walked up to the stall. A hollow thud accompanied Dean leaning against the door. “I’ve known you two years and you’ve never used a goddamn bathroom.” Dean’s voice was havoc on Castiel’s self-control. Adjusting his position slightly, he couldn’t help but imagine that every tantalizing brush of his shirt against his skin was Dean’s fingers exploring his body, the hand buried within him Dean’s. He dropped his head, letting his eyes slip shut as he sought the semblance of calm and a reply that would temper Dean’s suspicions.

“Exactly,” said Castiel with a burst of inspiration. “I’ve lived among humans some time but have never ventured into a public restroom facility before. I was curious.”

His hand cramped and he shifted it unthinkingly, swallowing a breath to keep it from coming out as a gasp. His cock went from fairly interested to rock hard in an instant. The ludicrous nature of the situation struck him as another burst of sourceless bliss. The fact that he could entertain such intense feelings without the least touch was a new experience, one he hoped to have repeated in the future.

Preparing himself in the bathroom had been a great decision. If only he could get Dean to leave!

“Are you masturbating in there?” Dean said in strangled tones.

“No,” with increased confidence, Castiel mustered his best cold ‘don’t be a ridiculous human’ voice. “I am investigating the nature of the plumbing system.” There was a silence thick with Dean’s incredulity. “Also, I find this toilet paper dispenser intriguing. What need would there be for three separate tubes mounted on a rotating apparatus? Perhaps you can explain it to me?” His butt wiggled against his hand, desperate for him to move his fingers.

“Maybe some other time,” Dean said. There desire in his voice, a promise, a hint of hurt, but Castiel shrugged it off. Dean would understand later. Castiel would make it up to him. “I’m sure the bathroom is awesome. Watch some dude use a urinal or some shit, it’ll go over great.” That was definitely sarcasm, Castiel thought, making a mental note to never watch anyone use a urinal.

“I’ll be out soon, Dean,” Castiel promised. The hunter didn’t answer, his boots passed out of sight as his footsteps tapped heavy on the tiled floor.

Determined to be good to his word, Castiel had a third finger inside himself before the door had even finished closing. The delay had facilitated the process. The need to sound rational and calm had necessitated the relaxation of his body, and the time spent embedded in himself without moving had stretched his channel quite effectively. The temptation for immediate gratification faded with Dean’s departure, the close call reminding Castiel just how much he stood to gain by waiting until they could be together. Resisting the urge to stroke his cock, he spread his fingers within himself, hissing at a surprising spike of pain brought on by the rapidity of his movements. The purpose of this was not sexual gratification. The purpose of this was to be wet and ready for Dean when the moment came. The fact that ignoring his present arousal would heighten his stimulation later was an added bonus. Removing his hand, ignoring the aching emptiness left in its wake, he poured more lubricant onto his fingers and once against pushed in three digits, shivering as the chill liquid heated and thinned and flowed within him. He spared a few quick thrusts to spread it around, choking on a moan as he accidentally brushed his prostate and sent a spike of pure heat directly to his gut, so good his legs nearly folded.

 _Later_.

Gritting his teeth against the base voice screaming for him to continue, he withdrew his hand again. Taking up the plug, he smeared it with lubricant, reached back, and placed the narrow tip against his entrance. In mere moments, his muscles had already begun to tighten again, but the plug was ideally shaped for this task. The tip penetrated him easily and spread him, and as the toy widened, so it opened him more and more as it slid in. With a wet pop, the thickest part entered him, and the ring of muscles clenched around the final narrow section before the wide base that would hold it in place. It stretched him, filled him in a way that was distinctly alien. The plastic had no give at all, no malleability, no heat, no pulse, no movement save that which Castiel gave it. The differences from Dean’s cock were multitudinous, but for that it still felt quite good. Tension ran through his body, his grip on the bar went white knuckled, his breath came in urgent pants. The toy was noticeably smaller than Dean but it felt large at that moment and despite all his resolutions, with desire quaking through him the temptation to grasp the base and thrust into himself was powerful.

With effort, he released the bar and straightened, attuned to the way his body accommodated the new intrusion. Every movement caused friction that wasn’t nearly adequate. All he had to do was reach back and pulse the plug in and out of his body. All he required was for pleasure to flare and carry through him, for him to wrap his other hand around his erection and not stop until he was curled up on the bathroom floor moaning Dean’s name.

They were going to have a very good night.

The most difficult part of the process proved to be getting his pants back on without forcing the plug out. Several abortive attempts demonstrated that squatting was a recipe for disaster, and Castiel made a mental note that he’d have to be careful how he moved as long as the plug was in. Only by using a hand to hold it in as he lifted the garments was he able to accomplish the task. It occurred to him as shrugged his trench coat back on that Dean had stood at the door the bathroom stall while Castiel’s pants and undergarments had been pooled around his ankles. Dean must have seen.

To paraphrase his love, they were going to have a fucking _awesome_ night.

Castiel returned to the table to find Sam and Dean indulging happily in their dinners. Sam didn’t spare him a glance, engrossed in a roast half chicken that he was tearing into chunks by hand and layering on bread. Dean met Castiel’s eyes and set his cheeseburger down even though he’d only taken a few bites and the juice was dripping onto his plate. The look he gave Castiel was hungrier than the one he gave the sandwich. The set of his eyes was tense, his mouth thinned. Hoping he wasn’t flushed from his time in the restroom, Castiel resumed his seat, clinging to self-control by a fingernail as sitting pushed the plug into him and sent an erotic shiver through his entire body. Judging by the way Dean’s eyes widened and his pupils darkened, Castiel thought something must have shown on his face. For an instant, Sam glanced at each of them, and then returned his attention to his dinner with impressive intensity.

The meal was endless. Dean managed to make an art of eating his burger, savoring every bite with almost comical delight while his eyes never left Castiel’s. Castiel knew, intellectually, that many humans found eating to be an arousing experience, that food featured commonly in sexual behavior, but he’d never before appreciated why that was. Dean’s facial expressions were criminal and only added to Castiel’s growing desperation. The longer the meal dragged on, the more difficult it became to keep his breathing from rushing, his heart from racing, his face from growing flushed with need and embarrassment. Worse, Dean’s soul was singing to him. After the past weeks of forced isolation and division, it no longer attempted to reach for Castiel’s caged grace. Instead, it tried to tempt Castiel into making the first move. It whispered outwards, lulled Castiel, called to Castiel. As turned on as Castiel was, he found his grace surprisingly responsive, teasing at the barrier that Castiel used to restrain himself, stretching and questing for a vulnerability. Castiel had never been more pleased that he had millennia of experience maintaining the appearance of impassivity.

Whereas Dean ate slowly, Sam stripped meat off chicken carcass as if he’d never undertaken a more important, critical, urgent task. Barely half way through his sinful consumption of his burger, Dean paused to lick his fingers clean suggestively, and Sam shoveled a last piece of barbecue sauce-soaked bread into his mouth and chewed quickly. Swallowing hugely, Sam cleared his throat as he used a wet wipe to clean his fingers. “I was thinking I’d talk with some of the locals. There are a lot of people here. Someone must have heard something about a ghost at the Landry place.”

“Really, Sam?” said Dean in that gruff tone of voice that always nailed Castiel right in the libido. His butt clenched around the plug and his cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. “We’re at the point we’re fishing for rumors and urban legends?” Castiel stared pointedly at the checkered plastic table cloth, keeping his face down in the hopes of escaping observation.

Sam shrugged. “We haven’t got anything else, Dean,” he said testily. “Anything is better than nothing.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Dean snapped back.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to do it,” Sam rolled his eyes. Their waitress wandered by, and Sam gestured for her to bring the check.

“Sure you don’t need any help with this?” Dean made a gesture that encompassed all of the strange array of people in the bar. Closer to a barn than a proper building, the lay out featured long communal tables, a dance floor occupied by couples swaying and jumping to classic rock, a stage for live performances which was presently empty, and of course the long, wood bar itself, lined with occupied stools. Despite a grungy appearance, the place had attracted an impressive subset of locals, from a table of men and women dressed in business suits to a group clad all in leather to a cluster of tittering, scantily clad young women all wearing feather boas and crowns.

“Good night, Dean,” said Sam as he rose abruptly.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean tossed the keys to the Impala to Sam. “We’ll walk back,” Dean said with a mischievous smile. “But don’t forget – midnight curfew, Sammy.”  Catching the keys deftly, Sam scowled and turned towards the bar. Castiel felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t even considered how his behavior would influence Sam. It had been selfish of him to engage in flirtation with Dean despite Sam’s presence. In the future, he’d have to take such things into account.

Chuckling, Dean returned his attentions to his cheeseburger, proceeding to indulge even more thoroughly than he had before. One bite even prompted a low groan from the impossible man, a sound that went straight to Castiel’s groin. Only clenched teeth kept Castiel from giving voice to his arousal. Dean lowered the burger to stare at him all the while, eyes darkening. Castiel could almost see the wheels turning in his head as Dean’s lips quirked into a lascivious smile. Fidgeting in his chair, Castiel shifted and placed pressure on the plug and he bit his lip against another involuntary noise. Dean’s smile widened.

After an eternity, the damn burger was completely consumed, and Dean set cash down to pay for the meal. “You ready to go, Cas?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Dean,” Castiel was disturbed by the petulant note in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. The glacial pace at which Dean had eaten had been extremely frustrating, the more so because Castiel had every reason to believe that Dean knew at least some of the truth. As such, why the delay?

Dean rose and stretched luxuriantly, loose button up parting to his sides, dark green t-shirt stretched taut over his chest, hanging loosely over his belly, revealing several enticing inches of skin and the topmost strands of the soft brown hair that thickened and coarsened into a thatch around his cock. A creaky groan accompanied the exaggerated movements. Dean’s soul brightened tauntingly. “Waitin’ on you now.”

Castiel was _not_ panting. Absolutely not.

Standing was a careful, slow process of ensuring that the interaction of muscles, joints, and lubricant did not cause an embarrassing mishap. His erection added a further complication. Dean’s complete unwillingness to turn and walk for the door did not help in the least. Instead, the hunter watched him unerringly, focus excessive in its ardency. The flash of paranoia Castiel experienced was, perhaps, the discomfort that Dean alluded to when he spoke of Castiel’s tendency to over scrutinize others. Castiel felt like Dean’s eyes were a spotlight following him everywhere, inescapable. When he realized that under no circumstance was Dean going to leave first, Castiel forced himself to take a slow step, and another, until he found the maximum pace at which he could move without dislodging the plug or injuring his genitalia. The clomp of Dean’s boots followed him close behind and the thought of Dean’s eyes continuing to pierce him was as much a turn on as the gaze itself had been.

Outside, the night was dark. The venue was large and popular, the parking lot jammed with cars, some departing, more arriving. Overhead lights made clusters of luminous yellow light under which clusters of people stood smoking and talking noisily. A block took them from the hubbub, down an old fashioned main street lined with quaint shops, all closed and dark for the night. The bar marked one end of the business strip, and their motel was on the other end, 3214 feet away.

Not that Castiel was counting.

Concentrating on walking without dislodging the plug, Castiel was startled by Dean suddenly closing the few paces separating them. A strong arm slipped beneath Castiel’s trench coat and jacket and kneaded at Castiel’s back through the fabric of his shirt. After so long untouched, so long waiting, the touch was like fire licking all around Castiel. Unable to contain himself any longer, Castiel whimpered, earning a throaty chuckle from Dean.

“What were you getting up to in there, angel?” Dean leaned in to rasp the words into Castiel’s ear. Dean’s breath on Castiel’s neck was just as effective as the touch on his back at heightening Castiel’s arousal. Attempting to take a hold at bay feelings rapidly cascading out of his control, Castiel reminded himself that the purpose of his efforts was not to hasten his own gratification, but rather to facilitate his ability to bring Dean pleasure. The words were absolutely true and completely ineffective at tempering his expectations. The problem was only exacerbated when Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and placed it to the solid bulge in Dean’s pants. “I’ve been wondering for half an hour.”

“It was an intriguing facility,” Castiel’s attempt at diversion was marred by breathiness. Every step they took, the plug shifted and rubbed, his dick throbbed against the fabric of boxers, and his fingers brushed rough denim and Dean’s arousal. At every step they took, Dean’s breath grew hotter on his cheek, the grip around Castiel’s waist grew more possessive.

“Of course,” Dean repeated that sinful chuckle. “The toilet paper thing.”

“Yes. Can you explain that to me?” Perhaps Castiel’s Father hadn’t abandoned Earth. Only a miracle could explain how he wasn’t already on his knees begging Dean to put an end to his misery.

“Makes it easier for the staff,” Dean licked the lobe of Castiel’s ear. The hand on his back slipped beneath Castiel’s belt to rub at his butt, fingers just shy of the tell-tale silicon edge of the butt plug. Thoughts of what might happen if Dean discovered the plug while they made their slow way down Main Street spun into enticing fantasies. “Don’t have to change the rolls as often if there are three of ‘um in there.” Castiel could scarce hear Dean over the racing of his heart.

“I see,” Castiel managed. He longed to walk faster. The night seemed impossibly bright, every light refracting in his eyes, gaze refusing to focus quite right. Dean curled his fingers under one butt cheek and squeezed, simultaneously thrusting into Castiel’s hand. Stumbling, Castiel moaned.

“Yeah,” murmured Dean. “You want that?” Castiel nodded desperately. So much, he wanted Dean so unbelievably much. His grace heaved against its restraints, but Castiel repressed it and pretended he hadn’t noticed the way Dean’s soul flared at precisely the same moment. Abruptly, Dean practically threw Castiel’s hand aside, removed his own from Castiel’s pants, and stepped away, opening chill space between them. “That’s too bad.”

“Dean,” Castiel forced out through gritted teeth. The motel was in sight, neon sign proclaiming vacancies at The Stop and Sleep.

“Nope, nada, zilch,” Dean’s voice was low and mocking. “Not ‘til you explain why you’re holding out on me.” Taking the lead, Dean strutted casually past, hands behind his head.

“Dean,” Castiel repeated more forcefully, stopping. Dean stopped as well and turned to face Castiel, surprise evident on his face. Mustering all the magnificence of angelhood, allowing his grace the tiniest modicum of the freedom it blustered for, Castiel said, “You have to trust me.”

“Fuck,” whispered Dean in awe. Eyes wide with shock and lust, Dean licked his lips. Castiel allowed himself a slight smile. Dean nodded slowly, emphatically. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” He practically bolted towards the motel. It was Castiel’s turn to chuckle teasingly as he followed at the same measured pace.

When Castiel reached the motel, Dean was cursing and twisting the door handle. “I gave Sam the fucking keys,” Dean bit off in irritation.

After so much self-denial, it felt amazing for Castiel to grant his grace further escape. His essence coursed through him, through his vessel, pulsed in time to the desperate need flushing his body. Maintaining enough control to keep apart from Dean’s soul, despite the way the hunter’s essence sang to him, Castiel channeled his magic. The door burst open.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and dragged him inside, slammed the door shut, rounded and surrounded Castiel’s body with his own, trapping Castiel against the door. Castiel recaptured his grace by the skin of his teeth before all sense was washed away. Aggressively, Dean kissed him, nipped at his already swollen lip, invaded Castiel’s mouth with his tongue. Dean’s pelvis ground against Castiel’s, his hands clasped Castiel’s waist. The shock of contact was intense, washing out Castiel’s vision as Dean swallowed moan after moan as they leaked through Castiel mouth.

“You’ve got me so fucking turned on, Cas,” Dean didn’t pull his mouth away as he spoke, the words muffled between desperate kisses and licks. The grinding of crotch on crotch grew stronger, the force of Dean’s thrusts to his front causing the door to nudge at the plug behind. Clearly the plan had back fired. Far from feeling in control, Castiel had never felt so unable to resist Dean. All he could do was drown in the heat of Dean’s body and get lost in the maze of tantalizing touches to his lips, his torso, his erection, his ass. “You wouldn’t _believe_ how much I want to fuck your brains out right now.”

“Yes,” Castiel let his eyes close. He couldn’t see anything anyway, only a desire-blurred wash of darkness. “Good...that’s good...I want you to.”

With a snarl, Dean’s hands were on the button’s of Castiel’s shirt, practically ripping them open. The instant the shirt was undone, Dean shucked Castiel’s jacket, trench coat and shirt off in one easy movement. Only the tie remained, but only for an instant before Dean paused his kisses barely long enough to yank it over Castiel’s head. Beneath the dress shirt there was nothing but pale, unblemished skin. Dean roughly ran his hands over it, callouses rubbing and teasing, nails raking and drawing dark red lines, then gently palming over each mark, soothing and kind. Dean knew Castiel’s body well enough to know exactly where to touch to provoke Castiel’s desperate moans, along the base of his ribs, at the slight curve at the sides of his waist, just below the line of his hips.

“Dean… _Dean_ …want you so much… _God_ that feels good…”

In direct opposition to Castiel’s plea, Dean drew away, leaving Castiel lips cold, his hips rolling against air. Castiel whimpered in distress and slumped against the door. “Blasphemy, Cas?” Dean laughed. “I like it.” Castiel opened his eyes, and in the faint light he could see dark green eyes surveying him with a predatory gleam.

“I had a plan for tonight,” Dean’s voice was the roughest Castiel had ever heard it, low and hoarse. It provoked a sensation shockingly similar to the way Dean’s nails had felt over Castiel’s skin. “Do you want to know what it was?” Castiel shook his head with small, jerky movements. “I’d decided not to tell you. Pretty pissed about your stunt in the bathroom, I’ll admit. But...” Dean hesitated. Dean’s soul shifted subtly, reaching out towards Castiel for the first time in days. Forcing his eyes to focus, Castiel realized that the hunter’s expression had grown vulnerable. “I trust you, Cas.” Castiel’s mouth widened in surprise, Dean’s eyes glowed golden as his soul exposed itself, bright enough to cast faint shadows below his cheek bones. Bridging the space between them, Dean kissed Castiel with surprising gentleness, running his tongue delicately along Castiel’s lips, over his teeth. He kissed a line over Castiel’s cheek, licking at his stubble, leaving a cold, damp trail over flesh seared by desire.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, awed by the marvelous creature that was Dean Winchester. No being, angel or human, had ever been so beautiful in his sight.

“I trust you,” Dean repeated in his ear, soul blazing radiantly. Dean turned and sucked at the bone behind Castiel’s ear, drawing a stream of incomprehensible, needy sounds from the angel. Fingers brushed lightly across his stomach, caressed through the thin dark hairs that trailed down to Castiel’s crotch, and casually undid Castiel’s belt and pant. The trousers dropped to the ground. “So let’s take advantage of that fucking _ungodly_ recuperation time of yours. I’m going to blow your mind, and then, whatever you’ve got planned, I’m all yours.” Dean stretched Castiel’s boxers, brushing the coarse elastic band over Castiel’s sensitive erection. Castiel’s head knocked against the door as he threw it back, contact with his dick so welcome he could hardly stand it. Releasing the boxers with a snap that slapped the fabric against Castiel’s balls, beneath his shaft, Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel and thumbed at the head of his cock, smearing pre-come and drawing a sobbing moan from Castiel.

“ _Dean_ …” Castiel’s sight had narrowed to one thing, the handsome face staring into his illuminated by that impossibly dazzling, impossibly alluring, impossibly magnetic soul. All he could smell, all he could taste, all he could hear, there was nothing else in the world. His vocabulary had narrowed to one word, the name of perfection and love.

“Anything you want, Cas. I don’t want to mess up whatever you’re up to.” Dean’s hand teased at the slit of Castiel’s dick, smearing the head with pre-ejaculate, disregarding the weak, desperate thrusts as Castiel’s hips wordlessly begged for more. “Shoulda done this a long time ago.” Dropping his lips to Castiel’s neck, Dean sucked and kissed along the graceful curve, mouthing at Castiel’s clavicle. Castiel’s head fell limply to one side to give Dean easier access. Even with everything they’d done together, Castiel had never felt closer to shattering from so little stimulation, the glorious side effect of Dean’s gradual, irresistible progress towards emotional intimacy. Dean’s voice echoed in his head, whispering _I need you…I trust you…_

Dean’s hand left his waist, released his cock, his lips moved from Castiel’s skin, and Castiel was completely untouched. Tears squeezed from his eyes and a desperate sob of need burst free, only to be cut off an instant later as Dean dropped to his knees, wrapped his lips around the head of Castiel’s cock and sucked hard, licking up the droplets dripping from Castiel’s tip.

“Holy...” gasped Castiel, his entire body arching into Dean’s sultry mouth. Tension locked every muscle. Dean’s tongue curled around him, dainty and uncertain as Dean lapped at the slit, along the plush, hard flesh, traced around the head. A surprised, pleased hum echoed from the hunter’s mouth and tingled through Castiel’s entire body. The feeling melted strength, dissolved tension, left Castiel limp with replete joy. Only Dean’s arms around him, curled beneath his butt and supporting him, prevented Castiel from sinking to the floor. “That is...that feels...” Dean went deeper, taking in more of him, and Castiel flailed weakly as he struggled to regain his balance, toes curling in his socks, fingers scrambling weakly at Dean’s hair.

Every pleasure Dean had given Castiel was different, and this one was indescribable, so right he couldn’t even believe it, so splendid he cried. A flicker of memory spoke to his conjecture of how it might feel to fill Dean. What he’d imagined in that instant was a candle beside the bonfire of the hot, wet, amazing feeling of having Dean’s lips clamped around his length, Dean’s tongue licking him, the unspeakable suction of Dean’s throat as he swallowed around Castiel. Castiel’s hips quivered and he half-thrust into Dean’s mouth, felt Dean gag around him. “Sorry,” he rasped breathily, “I can’t...I’m sorry…” Dean hummed soothingly and pulled back so that he was once again sucking only the very tip. Bright light flared in Castiel’s vision, and he was no longer sure he even had a vessel, he might have been pure angelic grace bound by delight and a warm human soul. “I’m...” Teeth scraped ever so gently over the ridge surrounding the head. “Dean!” A spasm wracked his entire body, pleasure spiking somehow even higher.

Dean’s fingers curled around his buttocks, holding Castiel up despite trembling strain, pushing Castiel’s hips forward and Castiel’s arousal deep into Dean’s mouth. One finger brushed the cap of the butt plug, small movement that shattered through Castiel’s body. Dean groaned hugely around him, and that was all Castiel could take. His orgasm burned incandescent through him, his body felt like it incinerated, his grace strained to break free of the hold he had on it, and he thrust into Dean’s mouth, trailing come over Dean’s furiously licking tongue. “Dean,” Castiel whimpered, sliding bonelessly down the door to settle on his knees, slumped to one side and drunk on ecstasy.

Dean’s mouth pulled free with a faint slurp as he helped ease Castiel to the floor, fingers toying with the plug, holding it in, forcing a moan from Castiel’s lips. “Holy shit...” Dean groaned, moistening his lips with a tongue touched with specks of white. Castiel watched with lazy satisfaction. “ _This_ is what you were doing in the bathroom? Prepping yourself? Getting yourself ready for me?” Dean groaned again, eyes slipping shut at the thought.

“Didn’t...want to waste...time,” Castiel managed weakly. “I still...have plans for you...” With difficulty, Castiel got his arms under him and completely failed lift his own weight. “Once I can stand.”

Heavy breathing was the only sound for many minutes. Dean leaned against the wall beside Castiel, slipped a hand around Castiel’s waist and drew them together, cradling Castiel’s trembling body. Affectionate murmurs such as Castiel had only dreamed of hearing leaked through Dean’s lips as he ran a hand up and down Castiel’s side. “Beautiful angel.” Dean’s breath teased through Castiel’s hair. “Was that good?” Castiel nodded, stunned that Dean even had to ask, enjoying the way Dean’s t-shirt snagged at the stubble on his cheek. “I’m glad.” Dean nuzzled a kiss into Castiel’s scalp. “I’ve been a dick...an ass...shit, I mean...I’ve been an epic douche, Cas. A monumental, enormous fucking douche.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel mumbled. Dean’s soul was singing sweetly to him, melody like a psalm raised devotedly to the Lord. Despite the butt plug teasing at him, promising more to come, Castiel felt sated and happy and utterly content. His grace stretched and flexed within its magical bindings, whispering a counterpoint to the tune Dean’s soul composed.

“I mean...”

“This is nice,” interrupted Castiel distractedly.

“Dammit, Cas, I’m trying to say something important here,” Dean snapped. Castiel looked up as Dean raked a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping the room uncomfortably. “We just kinda started doing this thing...”

“Making love?” asked Castiel by way of clarification.

Dean let out a disgruntled snort. “Fucking,” he corrected.

“Making love,” Castiel repeated.

“We’re doing this thing,” Dean pressed on, “and we never really talked about it or anything. You’ve let me do all this shit I’ve fantasized about since roughly ten minutes after I met you...”

“When you called me a holy tax accountant?” Castiel smiled at the memory. “I didn’t realize you found bookkeeping attractive, Dean. I will keep that in mind.”

“When you told me I deserved to be saved,” said Dean softly. The pull of Dean’s soul increased, the warmth intensified, the song amplified. Concerned, Castiel sat up. Dean stared into space, liquid pooled beneath his eyes.

Reaching out, Castiel brushed errant strands of hair from Dean’s forehead. The gorgeous man shuddered, he blinked deliberately, a tear coursed down his cheek.

“Good things _do_ happen, Dean,” Castiel remembered every instant of that conversation, every agonized twitch of Dean’s facial expression. The garrison had been sent to Hell to free the Righteous man. In an abstract sense, Castiel had loved Dean before he’d ever laid eyes on him, the same way that he loved all of his Father’s creation. When Dean had summoned him afterwards, Castiel had heeded the call not out of necessity, but out of curiosity, and because Dean was his charge and they needed to speak. Castiel had expected Dean to be a warrior ready to do battle, a brave, mighty man whose purpose shone through him like a beacon. He had expected a general, bellowing a rallying cry across the embattled world. Millennia of observing humanity had taught Castiel that the vast majority of people considered themselves worthy, believed themselves capable of doing great deeds, enduring vast hardships, and facing impossible odds. In short, most people were desperate to have eminence thrust upon them so that they could prove to the world how devout, how heroic, how intelligent, how _great_ they were.

“Not in my experience,” whispered Dean, eyes shut, another tear falling, echoing that past conversation letter perfect.

Dean Winchester was not most people.

Another tear fell. Castiel cupped Dean’s cheeks, shifted so that he was staring intensely into Dean’s closed eyes. A heartbeat later, green eyes opened and met into his. That perfect gaze widened, and Castiel smiled. “Fuck,” Dean muttered, using the back of his hand to wipe the wetness from his face. “This isn’t what I...look, I just wanted to say...” Castiel kissed him chastely. A broken sound caught in Dean’s throat. Green and gold, matching Dean’s eyes, swirled among the pearly light of his soul and the song fragmented into strange syncopated discordance. “You gotta let me finish, man.” One of Dean’s hands came to rest on Castiel’s head, fingers ruffling his hair. Castiel kissed him again, and despite his words Dean held Castiel in place, drawing out the tender massage of lips against lips. When they final broke apart, Dean huffed a low sigh. “I’m bein’ serious here. I need to get this fucking heart to heart over. Can we do that?”

“Sorry, Dean,” said Castiel with mock contrition, the smile still playing over his lips. “I’m being very serious.”

“Wha...oh, come on, don’t look at me like that...” Dean rolled his eyes, shoving Castiel back playfully. “Look, I gotta be sure that you’re getting what you need to be happy, too. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to say. I’ve been taking what I need, but I never even fucking asked what you needed.” The melody swelled, echoing and hauntingly beautiful, broken in a way that Castiel couldn’t put his finger on, as if he only heard part of a symphony.

“I told you,” said Castiel, tilting his head in confusion. “I need you, Dean.”

Castiel’s grace was composing the missing melodic lines of the song that Dean’s soul was creating.

Panic blanked everything.

“Cas?” concern flooded Dean’s voice.

With a hiss, Castiel seized hold of himself, tore away from Dean’s embrace, tumbled backwards as his legs tangled in his pants, silenced his share of the duet, and bundled his grace deep within himself. He constrained it with all his strength, curtailed it, imprisoned it. Despite every precaution he’d taken for over a month, it had slipped from his grasp without his even realizing it. The song transitioned into a soliloquy of lamentation as Dean’s soul reached out and tumbled spiritually into the suddenly vacant space where Castiel’s grace had been. Whatever he and Dean did, whatever they had, Castiel couldn’t allow that mixing to take place, not when Dean had no conceivable way of understanding what it was he was actually striving to reach, no idea of the consequences of allowing them to intertwine.

Fingers brushed Castiel’s cheek as Dean’s soul fumbled against the thick walls holding Castiel’s grace back. Castiel’s eyes flew open. He was huddled against the door out of Dean’s reach. Dean was leaning towards him, face taut with fear, eyes wide and hurt. Their gazes met and Dean recoiled. Only then did Castiel realize his face was twisted painfully, muscles straining around an agonized snarl. With effort, Castiel relaxed, calmed his panic. His grace was imprisoned again. Everything was fine. Releasing a long breath that tingled serenity through him, he eased into a neutral expression. Castiel reached out for Dean and suppressed a cringe at the way Dean flinched at his touch.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

“What happened?” Dean asked. “You under attack or something? Was it something I...”

“No,” interrupted Castiel. “It’s nothing you did, Dean. I can’t explain right now, but I will. I swear to you, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” With one simple phrase, Castiel hedged his bets for the future. There was no aspect of this that Dean needed to know. Dean’s alarm would pass, Castiel would be more cautious in the future, and there would be no further issues. He wished he actually believed it would be that easy. Castiel pressed a soothing line along the ridge of Dean’s jaw, his cheek. Dean watched him warily. “I _need_ you.” Dean’s expression softened, but he didn’t move, didn’t reach for Castiel. “Preferably now,” Castiel added by way of clarification. Castiel brought their lips together, holding Dean’s gaze the entire time. For the first moments, he was horrified at how unresponsive Dean was, but then the hunter’s mouth began to move against his, opened willingly to Castiel’s tongue, allowed Castiel to delight in the dark, rich, irresistible taste that was uniquely Dean. Hating himself a little for intentionally sidelining Dean’s concerns, for deliberately distracting him, Castiel nonetheless reached his free hand down to palm new life into Dean’s erection, lingering despite the unexpectedly serious interlude in what Castiel had envisioned as a casual night’s enjoyment. Lust fuzzed out Dean’s pupils.

“You’ll tell me?” Dean demanded when the kiss ended.

“I’ll tell you,” Castiel vowed. _I’ll tell you everything you need to know_. No, he realized. He would tell Dean everything, the entire truth, and live with the consequences. Though the likely outcomes of doing so frightened him, he loved Dean too much to do otherwise. That realization brought some comfort and went far to ease his guilt. He leaned in and kissed Dean again, then shifted to whisper in his ear. “Now, I would like to see that gorgeous body of yours lying on that bed, waiting for me.”

Chuckling, Dean was up in an instant and flat on his back on the bed an instant later. Castiel kicked off his shoes and tugged his socks off as he hopped on the bed and knelt at Dean’s feet. Completely naked, Castiel assessed his fully clothed lover. A heated gaze raked over him, Castiel smiled slyly at the attention, casually undoing Dean’s bootlaces and removing the boots and Dean’s shoes. Dean shivered as cool air brushed over his bare feet, and Castiel stared over Dean’s body, a pensive expression on his face as he considered how to proceed.

“So, in the bathroom...” Dean broached. There was still a hint of hesitancy, his soul had quieted and dimmed, but the depth of his voice and the bulge in his pants spoke to his continued interest, and the words indicated the truth of Dean’s previous declaration. Dean trusted Castiel and accepted the explanation for Castiel’s strange behavior. Relief washed through Castiel. Movement caused the plug to rub at him and remind him of sensual pursuits, and his own concerns faded. Grinning, he straddled Dean’s hips, grabbed Dean’s hands and placed them on his waist. Dean’s fingers immediately sought out the butt plug, tracing the edges of it, nudging it, slipping beneath the wide end to feeling the moisture pooled about the thin piece around which Castiel’s muscle clenched. Dean’s eyes watched Castiel intently, and pleasure shivered through his body. “You were...for me...”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded. Planting his hands on either side of Dean’s head, Castiel leaned over and kissed Dean passionately, delighting as Dean reciprocated, feeling the tension dissipate from Dean’s body and from the room. The plug was withdrawn slightly and shoved back in, and Castiel’s breath left him in a rush, straight into Dean’s mouth. Lowering himself, Castiel pressed the skin between his balls and his butt into Dean’s crotch, felt Dean grow harder through the rough denim jeans. Dean’s hips pursued him as Castiel lifted up, his hands cupped Castiel’s butt and continued to fiddle with the toy and Castiel ground against Dean’s cock again and again until Dean broke off their kisses with a deep groan.

“That’s fucking awesome, Cas,” Dean breathed. “How’d you know to do this?”

“I researched it on the internet,” said Castiel seriously. Dean burst into heart-warming laughter that stifled in a groan as Castiel rutted against him again.

With another kiss, Castiel drew back, placed his hands beneath Dean’s armpits and encouraged him to sit up. Tracing every curve of Dean’s mouth with his tongue, Castiel eased Dean’s flannel shirt off his shoulders, pulled it from his arms, and then Castiel grabbed the hem of Dean’s shirt and tugged it over Dean’s head. Dean willingly aided him, heeding every subtle cue that Castiel was taking charge without the least objection. The thought was enticing and began to rouse Castiel’s second erection, cock lengthening, firming. Dean’s tanned chest was exposed, and Castiel bent close and kissed his neck, teeth catching at Dean’s skin, and reveled in the way that Dean’s breath hitched and caught. Continuing his rhythmic attention to Dean’s crotch, Castiel reached behind Dean’s back and rearranged the pillows on the bed, making a pile of them behind Dean.

Lifting himself over Dean’s hips, Castiel met lust-blown green eyes. “Lean on those,” Castiel ordered. Desire flared on Dean’s features and he obeyed instantly, sliding backwards until he was sitting up against the pillows massed at the base of the headboard. Where Castiel had straddled Dean’s hips, now he hovered over Dean’s knees. With a wicked grin, Castiel stretched out and kissed along Dean’s neck, his collar bone, his shoulder. Insistent hands grasped Castiel’s hips and tried to pull him forward, but Castiel completely disregarded them. Dean whimpered and bucked his hips up insistently, bulge prominent, cock still completely bound by jeans.

“Trust me,” Castiel growled.

Dean whimpered again. Castiel’s cock gave an insistent twitch.

Slowly, deliberately, tenderly, Castiel trailed kisses down Dean’s chest, laving firm flesh with his tongue. Dean relaxed beneath his touch, muscles twitching, and Castiel rode the rise and fall of Dean’s chest as his breathing grew more rapid. He stopped over Dean’s heart, relishing the way he could feel it beat beneath his lips, pulsing a powerful rhythm that Castiel echoed in the chamber of his mouth, reverberated behind his eyes. Relinquishing his hold on Castiel’s hips, Dean let his arms fall limply to the mattress and sighed, letting his head slump against the pillows. Castiel splayed his fingers against Dean’s belly, traced his hands over Dean’s sides, curled his grip over Dean’s shoulders and back, squeezing and massaging as he went. By degrees, the heartbeat throbbing life beneath Castiel’s gentle lips quickened, and Dean murmured wordless approval, clenching and unclenching the blankets. Skimming lazy fingers over the contour of Dean’s breasts, Castiel ran his thumbs over Dean’s nipples, pressing hard, circling the pink-brown flesh. Dean gasped, surging up into the contact.

“Shhh,” Castiel murmured gently against Dean’s heart, easily maintaining his position despite Dean’s movements. Holding his thumbs against the hardening nubs, Castiel reached around Dean’s sides with his fingers, calming and caressing and easing until Dean settled back against the pillows. Only when Dean was still again did Castiel move against Dean’s nubs, swirling the delicate flesh, tweaking and twisting tantalizingly until the heartbeat beneath his lips was racing. He smiled against Dean’s hot skin.

“Cas...” breathed Dean, catching as he clenched his teeth against a moan.

“Dean,” Castiel said against Dean’s chest, “I would prefer if you did not restrain your vocalizations.” Dean rumbled out a low laugh which transformed into a soft groan as Castiel tugged on each of Dean’s nipples and scraped them with a nail. It was something that Dean had said to him often in the past, if not quite in those terms. But, Dean had said he found it attractive when Castiel deliberately accentuated his social ineptitude. Owning that and using it to turn the tables on the multitude of teasing that Dean had put Castiel through felt amazing.

Continuing to lightly play with Dean’s nipples, Castiel placed one final kiss over Dean’s heart before mouthing down Dean’s torso, lips tracing firm abdominal muscles, teasing at skin beginning to show a sheen of sweat. Heavy breathing, faintly vocal, accompanied Castiel’s movements, punctuated periodically by grunts, gasps, vaguely articulate approval, when Castiel paused to suck and lave one of the places where Dean was particularly sensitive. Occasional bobbles of Dean’s hips betrayed how much Dean’s cock was longing for attention. “In time,” murmured Castiel, finally abandoning Dean’s nipples to run a finger along the top of Dean’s jeans. “Patience.” Reaching Dean’s belly button, Castiel sucked at the soft skin, running his hands firmly up the strong muscles of Dean’s sides and back.

A word caught in Dean’s throat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Castiel taunted, nipping down the cleft at Dean’s belly, licking the exposed line of Dean’s hip. His hands trailed up Dean’s body, tweaking his nipples again, reaching around to knead his shoulder blades.

“Please,” Dean grunted, as if admitting his need was a guilty confession. Blood surged in Castiel’s ears, hot and powerful, and he growled against Dean’s skin. Castiel’s cock gave a pointed bob, as if his libido were concerned that Castiel had forgotten that he was thoroughly aroused once more. “Please,” Dean repeated. “Touch me, Cas.”

“I am touching you, Dean,” he said, giving Dean’s other hip the attention he’d bestowed on the first. Dean whimpered, thrusting up from the bed. Fumbling, Dean reached for his pants, and Castiel grabbed his hands, pressing them down on the mattress. Dean moaned and hitched at air once more.

“I’m picturing you in that bathroom,” Dean ground out. “Fingering yourself open, getting yourself ready for me.” Castiel groaned against Dean’s thigh, and Dean echoed him. A voice in Castiel’s head suggested that any time now it would be great to have Dean to touch his body, but Castiel ignored it. Hot anticipation tingled through him. “Pushing in and out...imagining it was me...” Ignoring the taunting, Castiel bent low and mouthed the fabric of Dean’s pants over his crotch. Dean pushed into the contact involuntarily, though through the denim the gratification must be slight, if Dean could feel it at all. “I want to watch next time,” breathed Dean. “I want to see the desperate look on your face when I stand feet away while you get yourself off without my ever fucking _touching_ you.”

Willpower snapped. The desire was too thick in Dean’s voice, the images too tempting and tantalizing, to close to things that Castiel had imagined. Castiel’s hands were at Dean’s jeans instantly, undoing the button, jerking the zipper down hard, removing them clothing with all the speed that frantic desire could muster. Dean’s hands were back on Castiel. One unsuccessfully attempted to tug Castiel’s hips forwards, the other reached around yanked the plug free. Castiel’s back snapped straight, his face turned towards the ceiling as he groaned hugely. The emptiness that had for so long been entirely normal felt vast after only a couple hours of being filled continually. Dean fingered at the wet opening as Castiel scowled at the obstruction of Dean’s boxers, until he resolved that the fastest option was his best. Using his angelic strength, he ripped them free. “Holy shit,” gasped Dean. Instantly, Castiel had his lips on Dean, sucking down pre-come hard as Dean’s hips rolled eagerly into the contact. One of Dean’s hands latched onto the back of Castiel’s head, trying to push him down, but Castiel shrugged it off and sat up again.

Dean stared at Castiel, eyes wide and expectant, expression slack with lust. His chest rose and fell rapidly, erratically, skin lightly tanned except where Castiel’s lips and fingers had teased it to redness. His cock was thick and flushed, more pre-come beading at the tip. Dean was much longer and noticeably wider than the plug had been, and Castiel panted, a hungry growl snagging in his throat as he imagined that soon, so soon, that length would be inside of him.

“This time, I’m watching you,” Castiel said, voice a rasped-out rumble. “I’ve been dreaming how you’d look while I take you how I want. I’m ready for you, Dean. Are you ready for me?” Dean pulled at Castiel’s hips urgently, but Castiel ignored him. “Are you?”

“Yes!” gasped Dean, a pleading note in his voice.

Castiel climbed Dean’s body, straddling his hips, poised himself above Dean’s erection. Behind him, Dean bent his legs up, giving Castiel something to support himself with. One hand settled on Dean’s knee, the other wrapped around Dean’s cock, gripping it tightly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Cas...want you so bad...” Dean managed. Castiel quirked an eyebrow, lowered his lips in a frown, and didn’t move. “Gotta be inside you,” Dean’s hands strained ineffectually to pull Castiel down, biceps bulging. “Fuck, please, let me...let me fuck you, Cas. Want to...” Castiel lowered himself slowly, using the hand around Dean’s cock to guide the entrance. The prep had done the job, lubricant oozed from his hole, mingling with pre-come as they came into contact. Dean groaned hugely and his hips thrust up, causing him to deflect off the pucker and bump Castiel’s balls.

“If you can’t calm down enough to be still, you won’t get what you want,” said Castiel, holding Dean’s gaze, letting go of his cock. Dean’s answer was entirely physical: his eyes slipped shut, his head fell back, his hands dug into Castiel’s hips so powerfully that the flesh bruised, and his hips stilled against the bed. Panting with the effort, Dean waited as a red flush crept down his chest.

When Castiel though Dean sufficiently chastised by the delay, he took Dean in his hand once more. A grateful “yeah...” slipped through Dean’s lips, but he didn’t move otherwise. Castiel spread his legs wider apart, held Dean’s cock upright and still, and lowered himself, pressing Dean into him. Lubricant oozed around his entry, dripped along Dean’s cock, and after a moments resistance Dean slid easily into him. There was no comparison between the plug and Dean, the faintest gust of wind compared to a hurricane. Dean was alive inside him, pulsing, hot, thick, flesh stretching flesh, accommodating, penetrating. Castiel panted desperately with the effort of moving slowly as heat coursed through his body, pooled in his thighs and stomach, pulsed through his dick. Eyes glued to Dean’s face, Castiel gloried in the blissful expression that overtook Dean, caused Dean to sigh, slack-jawed, with relief as he rolled his head against the pillows. Leaning back to support more of his weight on Dean’s legs, Castiel allowed the slicking lubricant to do its job, taking all of Dean into him in one smooth movement. A groan, torn from the very core of Castiel’s being, filled the room as Dean’s cock settled against the sensitive bundle of nerves within him, pressed it hard, sent pleasure billowing through his body. He felt an answering groan from Dean as a quiver through his body, an echo in his head.

Castiel didn’t try to move until he felt his body quiet, until Dean’s fingers were flexing against his hips once more, until Dean was tossing his head and muttering incoherently as he obeyed Castiel’s previous injunction to keep still.

“Do you like the way I feel?” Castiel asked, shaking his hips to lower himself ever so slightly more.

“So fucking good,” Dean groaned. Leaning forward and raising himself, Castiel grabbed the headboard for leverage and thrust down onto Dean again. Dean’s groan lengthened and grew deeper as he writhed beneath Castiel. “Fuck, Cas, always so good, every fucking time.” Thigh muscles already beginning to burn with strain, Castiel rose languidly, drawing Dean nearly all the way out, and lowered himself again at the same tortuous pace. “So hot.” Beneath him, Dean’s body trembled. Between Castiel’s legs, he could feel barely-restrained strength as Dean forced himself to accept only what Castiel gave. Slowly, so slowly, Castiel rose, and slowly, so slowly, he descended.

“So tight.” Dean’s voice broke on the second word as he bottomed out in Castiel. The feeling was indescribable, power and desire, need and longing and love and strength and control, pleasure lazily curling through Castiel to burn, to surge through his neglected arousal, to torment himself even as he tormented Dean. He refused to speed up, raising himself, lowering himself. “So... _amazing_...” Every time Castiel had all of Dean, the pressure on his prostate exploded behind his eyes. “So...” Only the grip on the headboard kept Castiel upright, only sheer determination kept him from losing control and taking Dean into him as hard as he could. “So...” Dean groaned again, his eyes flew open, unseeing, suffused with shimmering green, as Castiel rode Dean, grinding him hard into the mattress each time he pressed down. “ _Cas_...” Dean’s soul burst forth like the sun emerging from behind clouds. The heat flooded Castiel’s as surely as Dean’s erection filled him. Unable to force himself to go slow any longer, Castiel threw his weight back, catching both Dean’s knees with his hands. Lifting himself, he slammed done as hard as loose muscles and ample lubricant would allow him, and Dean choked and bucked beneath him.

The new angle struck deep and hard. “Dean,” Castiel moaned. “Please, Dean...” Dean’s hips rose to meet his, and it didn’t even cross Castiel’s mind to tell the hunter to stop moving. Each thrust brought a stab of glorious rapture that coursed through Castiel. Dean trembled, expression broken and borderline pained, and Castiel knew Dean was close. Self-control evaporated. All that remained was the urgent need to see them both to their climax. “Touch me,” Castiel begged. “Please, Dean, I need you to...” The words died in a cry as Dean’s hand seized Castiel’s cock and pumped him in time to the rise and fall of Castiel around Dean’s shaft. Through that touch, Castiel could feel Dean’s soul like a living thing directly beneath Dean’s skin, so much hotter than mere flesh could be. The soul surrounding his cock enveloped him, the soul thrusting within him suffused him, and Castiel looked towards Heaven and prayed for release before Dean’s perfection could shatter him completely. His eyes fluttered open and shut, not seeing the room any longer, only seeing the unbelievable brightness of the unblemished soul of the most righteous man on earth.

Dean’s hips faltered. “Cas!” he cried out. Castiel’s entire being responded viscerally to the cry, the need behind it. Dean _needed_ him. He tried to whisper the hunter’s name, but the word wouldn’t form. “Cas!”

 _I’m here, Dean_. _I’ll always be right here._

Liquid heat filled him, Dean’s climax, come mixed with shards of transcendent soul spattering Castiel’s insides. A deep, gut wrenching sound burst from Dean’s lips as he buried himself in Castiel one more time. His hand faltered as he stroked Castiel, bearing down painfully. “Cas... _Castiel_ ,” Dean managed again in a moaning whisper.

With a burst of incandescent light, Castiel’s grace cracked the walls of its prison.

“No,” Castiel cried hoarsely, throwing his body over Dean’s. He barely got a hand over Dean’s eyes before the holy light of his true form exploded outward, wings stretching to the corners of the room, feathers flaring. Beneath him, Dean shook, his soul drawn to divinity as Dean’s body was wracked by the aftermath of his climax. An instant later, Dean went limp. Tears streamed down Castiel’s face. “Dean, are you alright?” Heavy breathing was his only answer. “Dean!”

“What the fuck, Cas?” mumbled Dean. With a sob of relief, Castiel cried into Dean’s shoulder. His body thrummed with emotions, unresolved tension, the thwarted passion of the orgasm he had teetered on the brink of but not achieved, fear for Dean’s safety, adoration. He felt out of control in a way that was utterly foreign, torn by more conflicting sentiments than he’d have believed one creature could feel at the same time. Shaking his head, Dean tried to dislodge Castiel’s hand from over his eyes.

“No,” Castiel said. “You can’t look.” One of Dean’s hands brushed Castiel’s thigh and he bit back a moan, quivering. Passion twisted through distress, merged in a way that was frightening for the intensity of the pure _need_ that yet filled Castiel. It was inconceivable that he could be so alarmed, so worried, yet flushed so hot and desperate.

“What. The. Fuck.” Dean’s soul retreated, mercifully, hiding from the blinding splendor of Castiel’s corporeal grace.

“My grace,” gasped Castiel. “It...I felt so good...I’m sorry...you can’t look, you can’t...”

“It’s never done that before,” Dean sounded more cognizant by the moment.

“It’s been close a few times,” Castiel confessed miserably.

“So, every time we’ve had sex, there’s been a chance that your orgasm would burn my eyes out?” Dean observed dryly.

“I would never hurt you, Dean.” Dry, choked sobs wracked Castiel’s chest. “You must believe me.”

“Woah, Cas,” the wry note was gone from Dean’s voice, replaced by affection and warmth. Gentle hands traced along Castiel’s arms, up his neck, until Dean cradled Castiel’s head, caressed his cheek. “Joking. I know you wouldn’t let that happen.” Castiel pressed his hand over Dean’s eyes more insistently. Eyelashes tickled against his palm as Dean’s eyes fluttered open and shut. A trace of self-control returned to him and Castiel attempted to restrain his grace, but the magic refused to be bound now that it had finally won free. “Is that what you were worried about earlier?”

“Yes...no...sort of...”

“Well, I’m glad we cleared that up.” Castiel flinched at the condemnation evident in Dean’s tone. Shifting, Castiel’s erection pressing into Dean’s body. “Wait. Dude, you didn’t...”

“No,” mumbled Castiel, mortified. The hand on his cheek trailed fire down his side, drawing needy moans that left Castiel even more ashamed of himself. That his rebellious vessel should remain so aroused in the midst of crisis was unbelievable to him. “We mustn’t, not now...this is dangerous to you...I’m dangerous to you.” Dean’s fingers found the curve of his hip, slipped between his thighs. Castiel tensed. “Please stop.”

Dean yanked his hand like he’d been burned. “Fuck,” Dean muttered darkly. “Sorry. Fine. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Unable to bear the physical contact any longer, Castiel drew away, pulling himself off Dean’s body until the only point of contact between them was his hand shielding Dean’s eyes. His wings curled protectively around them both, his grace singing a soothing aria to Dean’s soul, beyond any control Castiel could consciously exercise.

Settling into a cross legged position on the bed, Dean lifted a hand to the air and ran his fingers through nothing, through angel-suffused air. “Warm,” Dean murmured. He shook his head. “Move your hand, my eyes are closed.”

“Your eyelids might not be enough...” said Castiel, feeling utterly wretched, the more so because his body was trembling, desperate to feel Dean, to earn Dean’s acceptance, to comfort and protect him, to climax in his arms. He shuddered.

“Fuck, Cas.” The tone was unreadable. Groping blindly over the bed, Dean latched onto a pillow and shucked the case free. Rapidly folding it into a thick strip, he wrapped the cloth around his eyes. When it was securely in place, he gave Castiel a moment to withdraw his hand before Dean tied the ends. Frantically hoping that distance would grant him clarity and discipline, Castiel jerked his hand away and held it to his chest as if touching Dean had injured him. It had, in a way. The fear and confusion and hurt and anger roiling Dean’s soul struck Castiel’s grace like physical injuries. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. With a cocky grin, Dean used a crooked finger to demonstrate that the pillowcase was securely in place and positioned himself as if he were facing Castiel while actually looking at a spot several feet to his left.

“Alright, I can work with this,” said Dean, grin growing wider.

“What?” Castiel shivered and drew away until he was perched on his knees at the edge of the bed. The disquiet seething through Dean calmed with shocking speed, and the hunter ran his fingers through the grace-filled air once more, twisting and curling them as if he could feel something. Perhaps he could. Castiel had no idea what a human would experience while enveloped in grace. He’d never heard of something similar happening.

On hands and knees, Dean moved towards him. Castiel’s grace brushed Dean’s skin, tousled his hair, enveloped him, welcomed him. The look on Dean’s face slipped into a rapturous smile. Dean’s soul began to stretch towards Castiel’s light once more.

“You know, I met this chick once at a bar, she was way into this sensory deprivation shit,” Dean said casually. Dean’s fingers brushed the blankets before his body as he searched for Castiel. Wide-eyed Castiel watched them coming closer, unable to force himself to move away. He _needed_ that touch, not just for sexual pleasure, not just for physical contact. This was everything he had feared, everything he had dreaded, yet Castiel could not make himself draw away. If only he could seize control of his grace, he could teleport across the ocean, teleport across the galaxy, put light years of distance between himself and temptation until he was calm enough to handle the situation with the delicacy required. There was no control, and there was no time. Dean’s hand found Castiel’s knee, and Dean chuckled triumphantly, surged forward and planted a sloppy kiss several inches away from Castiel’s mouth. Settling back on his haunches, Dean palmed at the tender flesh of Castiel’s inner thigh, and Castiel moaned, his wings giving a determined flap.

Dean froze.

“Cas, did you manifest _wings_?”

Castiel nodded, words gone, only vaguely aware that Dean couldn’t see him. Apparently accepting the silence, Dean’s hands trailed up Castiel’s sides, around his back and found the soft down at the joint where Castiel’s wings emerged from his vessel. The visceral feeling of a mortal touch on his angelic body was beyond his ability to put into words. With a guttural cry, Castiel’s entire body spasmed and he collapsed limply against Dean. Other angels had touched his wings, had manipulated his grace, and it had been a sensual experience, but this was nothing like that light, ethereal feeling. This was heavy, earth bound, profoundly _real_ and utterly overwhelming, pain and pleasure and tantalizing and firm and _wonderful_.

“Was that a good ‘nnnnng’ or a bad ‘nnnnng?’ ” Dean joked, easily supporting Castiel’s weight, using his free hand to urge Castiel closer to him.

“Deaaaaaan,” the name came out as a drawn out, gravelly moan. Castiel’s arms felt impossibly heavy, but he managed to drape them across Dean’s shoulders, pulling his chest flush against Dean’s. Dean shifted, settling Castiel between his spread legs. Castiel’s cock brushing Dean’s thigh, and he whimpered as Dean used one gentle hand to comfort and soothe tense muscles and continued his exploration of Castiel’s wings with the other.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispered brokenly into Dean’s ear. An arm wrapped around his lower back supportively, fingers tracing lightly over the crook of his thigh. “I can’t help it...I can’t control it...I want you so much right now.” Though his thoughts were a turmoil of conflicted emotions, the greater part of Castiel – his body, his grace – were completely on board with arousal, and the feel of Dean’s body against his, the glory of Dean’s apparent acceptance, temporarily outweighed all objections. He whimpered at every slight brush of Dean’s hands against his flesh. “Need you...I need you...”

“Cas, dude, I just...” Dean shook his head, tentative fingers carding through Castiel’s feathers and sending ripples through Castiel’s body. “Quit worrying so damn much.” Castiel twitched his hips, desperate for anything to touch his aching erection. “You know this is insanely hot, right?”

“It is?”

“Uh, yeah. Fuck, yeah. You want me so much that you couldn’t control your grace?” Castiel nodded. The supportive arm shifted into the space between their bodies, and Dean’s firm grip closed around Castiel’s dick. Castiel cried out as ecstatic bliss coursed through him, pressing himself against Dean as hard as he could, every point of contact between their bodies electric and vital. “Shit,” breathed Dean. Castiel heard him swallow, felt the twitch of Dean’s cock against Castiel’s leg. “Unspeakably fucking hot.” Dean emphasized the words by massaging the base of Castiel’s wings and stroking his erection simultaneously. “The hottest fucking thing I’ve ever fucking experienced. Fuck, Cas...”

“Dean,” moaned Castiel, burying his face in Dean’s neck. His arms tightened convulsively around the hunter’s shoulders and back. “Please, this is so good, so good, please, Dean...”

“Yeah, Cas,” murmured Dean comfortingly. “It’s okay. This is okay.” Castiel moaned again, the intensity of the feeling beyond anything they’d done before, anything he’d imagined. “I’m glad I make you feel so good.” Castiel’s grace curled around Dean protectively, possessively, desirously, tendrils of light streaming around Dean, pressing hotly against his skin. Castiel could feel every point of contact as if his physical body were touching all of Dean simultaneously. Grace tangled at Dean’s hair, massaged his body, wrapped around his cock, brushed lightly against his hole, kneaded and caressed and worshiped the hunter’s wonderful body. Going tense in Castiel’s arms, Dean groaned. “What is that?” He jerked Castiel off more roughly. Thrusting weakly into Dean’s hands, Castiel folded his wings around them more closely. “Fuck, that feels good...feels great...fuck, Cas, don’t stop, don’t fucking...!”

With every shred of willpower Castiel could command, he pushed himself away from Dean. Tumbling from the bed, he hit the coarse carpeting and the barely cushioned floor beneath bruisingly hard and skittered across the room to the corner furthest from Dean, furthest from more temptation than Castiel could ever hope to resist. Dean moaned at the loss of proximity, and Castiel ruthlessly stopped himself from reaching out to temper the hurt he sensed. His grace had started to join with Dean’s soul, and Dean’s soul had been only too delighted to reciprocate. Not only had Castiel explained nothing to Dean, he hadn’t even asked permission. He was so disgusted with himself he wished he could disappear, but that much control was denied to him by his own recalcitrant angelhood. This was what came of getting too close to a human. This was what came of rebelling against Heaven in the name of free will. Curled up in a tight, trembling ball, Castiel watched as Dean uncertainly felt around the bed, his gorgeous body cast in sharp relief by the glow of divine light, his mouth growing tauter as it lowered into a progressively deeper scowl.

Grunting in frustration, Dean put a hand to his blindfold.

“NO!” said Castiel with the full force of angelic command. This evening would end with him losing Dean, but not because Castiel had hurt him, never because of that.

“Cas,” snarled Dean, rising from the bed and taking a step towards where he’d heard Castiel speak from. “What the actual fuck? I can’t keep doing this shit. You’ve got to talk to me, man!”

Words spiraled away. Castiel’s body was so hot, his grace surged and raged and pulsed, vibrating in time to the heat gathered in his cock, the adoration buried in his heart and the conflicted cacophony in his head. He encircled himself in his wings protectively, determined to keep Dean away.

“Tell me what’s going on!” Dean demanded.

“Can’t,” mumbled Castiel, burying his face against his arms.

“What did I feel just now?” Dean’s voice sounded closer, and Castiel pressed himself back against the walls, wishing he could sink through it. His grace reached for Dean, and with a monumental effort, Castiel held it back.

“My grace,” Castiel said.

“What’s the problem, Cas? It felt fucking fantastic,” Dean said. Castiel didn’t answer Dean was too close, much to close, he must be on the ground like Castiel was, hands and knees, creeping nearer. Why wouldn’t he leave? Surely, Dean’s hunter’s instincts must be screaming for him to get out of the room, flogging him to escape from Castiel. “Shit, man, you’re scaring me.” Fingers found feathers, a light touch that tingled. Castiel’s entire body felt like it was super-charged, desire and grace and fear combined to dangle him over the edge of a cliff. His wings parted for Dean, the hunter’s body hot, soul burning like sunlight and salvation. Arms enfolded Castiel, holding him powerfully tight. Tears leaked from Castiel’s eyes. “I need you, Cas.”

“Dean...” said Castiel discouragingly.

“I seriously, really, truly fucking _need_ you,” Dean insisted. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” whispered Castiel. Helpless and defeated, Castiel slumped into the embrace. Dean gathered him up, crushed skin to skin, cradled him as if he was precious, ignorant of how much danger he was in because Castiel couldn’t find the words to tell him. His wings curled around them both, brushing the bare skin of Dean’s back, drawing a shiver that Castiel’s body echoed. Castiel made one last attempt to draw his grace back into himself, but it was completely unresponsive, twisting and eddying and dancing to the siren song of Dean’s soul.

“So, this is your grace...” Dean said leadingly.

“Yes.”

“And when it touches me, it feels absolutely fucking amazing...” Dean continued. Dean’s erection rubbed against his hip, emphasizing the words.

“Yes.” Castiel shuddered closer to Dean. Being together felt so good. Castiel should have realized his grace would call to Dean’s soul, should have known he wouldn’t be able to resist. He should never have initiated their relationship.

“And that’s a bad thing because...?”

“I’m an angel,” Castiel spat out bitterly. “You’re a mortal. Your soul reaches for my grace because it has been conditioned to do so eons of abusive control and ‘guidance’ supposedly administered in humanities best interest. In order to fulfill God’s commands – or whoever was giving the orders at that point – angels ensured that humans would react positively to the feeling of angelic grace. It’s not right. I don’t want to do that to you. If you feel affection for me, I want it to be of your own free will, not because my grace drew your soul.”

“But if I like it, and I want it, then what’s the problem?” Dean snapped, voice tinged with anger, a bizarre counterpoint to the way their bodies clung together “What part of ‘I trust you’ and ‘I need you’ ain’t communicating clearly, Cas?”

“And I love you!” Castiel froze stiff, aghast that the words had finally broken free. His grace exploded to fill the entire room. Dean’s body tensed against him, stunned. “That’s why I won’t...I can’t...” He took a deep breath that utterly failed to bring him even the barest semblance of serenity. Words poured from him, the seriousness of the situation finally releasing him from the constraints that had held him silent. Faced with either Dean turning his back on Castiel and never returning, or Dean dying, there wasn’t the least choice. “My grace has been trying to combine with your soul. It’s taboo, and criminal. Human souls are a vast power source, one that can be tapped by any ruthless angel or monster who doesn’t care about the consequences. What do you think fallen angels actually did when they started the first humans down the path towards becoming demons? They tricked the mortals into granting love, fooled them into granting access to their souls, combined tainted, ruined grace with the pinnacle of God’s creation. What did you think Michael was trying to get you to say ‘yes’ to all that time? It wasn’t just about your being a vessel!”

The hunter pushed him away, threw Castiel back in to the corner. Shocked and trembling, Castiel sat limply, and Dean crowded close, hands on the wall next to Castiel’s head. Castiel’s legs were splayed to either side of Dean. Their erections brushed, erotic pleasure a nauseating counterpoint to the despair slowly overtaking Castiel’s thoughts. “Then explain it to me, and ask my consent!” Dean shouted furiously.

“No!”

“Why the fuck not?” spat Dean.

“Because, though I believe myself different and my motives pure, I too am fallen. I’ve risked everything for free will and humanity, risked everything to avert the apocalypse. _I will not risk you, Dean._ Even if I explain, you cannot understand what you are consenting to.” Castiel dragged the words out, hating that he had to say them, hating that his brethren had used humanity for so long that there was repairing the damage that they’d done. “It would be like an adult requesting sexual relations with a child. Even if the adult explains things to the child, the youth lacks the framework to truly understand what is being asked. Actual consent cannot be given in such circumstances.”

“You think I’m a child?” Dean’s voice was low and dangerous. Inside Castiel, something tore. There was not going to be any coming back from this. At least Dean would be safe. “You think you’re some high and mighty grown up and I’m an ignorant kid?”

“It’s an apt analogy,” Castiel said, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice though he tried to make his tone caustic.

Dean seized Castiel’s hand and placed it on his erection. “Does this feel like I’m a child, Cas?” he growled.

Castiel groaned pathetically.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

_I should stop him. I need to stop him. He can’t do this._

“Tell me you don’t want me.”

Dean’s soul reached out, and Castiel’s grace responded automatically, caressing, soothing, calming, desperate to comfort despite the hurtful words they exchanged.

“Cas, you...you just said you _loved_ me, man!”

 _I want him so much_.

“You can’t say something like that and then just take it away. Don’t lie to me. Don’t try to tell me you don’t…that you don’t want this as much…as much as I do.”

 _I love him so much_.

“Look, Cas...fuck, I’d do _anything_ for you. Seriously. Anything you ask, I will do it. But this – the lies, the omissions, the fucking terrified freak outs – this I can’t do. I need you to be straight with me.”

“Can’t be straight, Dean...” he mumbled.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” snarled Dean. Castiel whimpered, the pure anger in that voice a wound scouring over his angelic form. “God fucking _dammit_ , Cas. _Do you love me_?”

“I do,” Castiel confessed. Castiel had thrown over everything he’d ever known, an eternity of purpose and duty and loyalty and honor and service, for a chance at free will. He’d lost everything because his love for one mortal man outweighed the authority and command of the entire Heavenly host. Had God Himself spoken, Castiel would have done no differently. “Yes, Dean. I adore you.”

“...how?” All the anger deflated, all the fury dissipated, the harsh body language slumped away as Dean’s arms fell back and his shoulders slouched. “How can...how can _you_ love _me_?”

Reaching out, Castiel touched Dean’s cheek where a tear had found its way out from beneath the blindfold. Dean flinched at the contact. “I don’t know, Dean,” said Castiel. The words came out calm and he felt serene, like telling the truth had unshackled him. He felt free, at ease, unconflicted. His grace ceased struggling, suffusing the room in a warm, soothing glimmer. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Dean’s forehead, earning a startled, bitten-back gasp. “It should be impossible. All of this should be impossible. I’m an angel. Regardless of what you’ve been through, you remain a mortal man. Your soul should not be able to call for me, reach for me. My grace should not pine for you. My vessel should not desire you, and even if it did, the pleasurable impulses thus created should not reverberate through my entire being. My grace should not be able to call to your soul without my conscious control, and your soul should certainly not be able to hear those words and respond, your behavior should not change noticeably as a result of magical interactions beyond your awareness. Yet, all of those things are true – all of those things have happened.”

Castiel reached out and set his hand over the hand print seared into Dean’s shoulder. Soul and grace flared as one, and Dean shuddered. “I, Castiel, formerly captain of the fifth garrison of Heaven’s Host, love you, Dean Winchester. I grant my love of my own free will – for the first time in my entire existence – because I cannot imagine, do not wish to imagine, what life would be like if I had not been the one to deliver you from perdition.”

“I...I don’t know what to _do_ with that, Cas...” muttered Dean, sounding like the lost child that he had been so angry to be compared with minutes before.

“Nothing, Dean,” Castiel said with a sad smile he was glad Dean couldn’t see. “You do nothing with it. I cannot let you.” Castiel started to rise. Hands gripped his shoulders, forced him back down, held him still. Dean shouldn’t have had the strength to prevent him acting, yet Castiel was unable to break free. “Dean...”

“You don’t get to decide that, Cas,” interrupted Dean. Castiel found Dean’s tone unreadable. The words struck him as angry, but the voice was rough, low, determined. “Not even you...being on Team Free Will fucking _sucks_ , and it has exactly _one fucking perk_ , and I will not let you take it away from me. You explained the situation to me. You told me how you feel. Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Now you get to sit your ass down and listen to my response.” Soul and grace continued to permeate the room, not yet so tangled up that they could not be divided, both poised. After all their struggles against the restraints placed on them, their magical selves now waited patiently for the outcome of the conversation.

“Dean...”

“Shove it, Cas,” snapped Dean. Could that possibly be _affection_ that Castiel heard? Unspeaking, Dean leaned forward, fumbling blindly until he managed to plant a kiss on the top of Castiel’s head. The hands holding Castiel in place tensed and relaxed. Dean leaned down, bumped his head against the wall, and growled in Castiel’s ear, “I’m going to make love to you now.”

Castiel moaned.

Powerful arms lifted Castiel effortlessly into Dean’s lap, cocked Castiel’s hips up to expose his entrance. Dean’s erection, still mostly hard, slotted against Castiel’s persistent arousal.

“That okay with you?”

“Yes, Dean,” whispered Castiel, surrendering once and for all to what he wanted – to what they both wanted?

Taking a hold of himself, Dean lined himself up against Castiel and began to press in, tip easily breeching what preparation and sex had already loosened and moistened. “Still think I’m a child, Cas?” Dean muttered with a lascivious chuckle. Before he could answer, Dean sank deeper inside him, head fully breaching his entryway, and Castiel moaned again. “Didn’t think so.”

With a hard thrust, Dean filled him completely. On his knees, straddling Dean’s lap, Castiel threw his head back and cried out at the glorious feeling. His fingers convulsed over the scar on Dean’s shoulder and his grace erupted, ringing out like the peeling of bells. Dean’s soul responded in kind, jubilant, burning so brightly it made Castiel’s grace seem faint by comparison. Something of that interaction must have communicated to Dean, for he moaned as wantonly as Castiel had ever heard. Snapping his hips back, maneuvering Castiel with an iron grip on his lower back, Dean thrust in violently hard.

“Fuck, that feels good,” Dean grated, thrusting again, again. “I know what I want.” Castiel squeezed at his own palm print, and Dean growled and thrust. “You’re the one who said I deserve salvation.” Thrust. “ _You’re_ the one who said good things happen.” Thrust. “Let this good thing happen to me.” Thrust. “After all the shit we’ve been through—” Thrust. “—let this good thing happen to _us_!” Thrust. Castiel’s vision blanked, his senses blanked. Thrust. He could no longer feel the wall or the rough carpet. Thrust. He could no longer see the room. Thrust. The entire world narrowed to three points. Thrust. Dean moving within him. Thrust. Castiel’s hand pressed to its mirror on Dean’s shoulder. Thrust. The way his grace felt entwining with Dean’s immaculate soul. Thrust.

“Dean!” he howled in pleasure.

A fourth point of reality formed.

Dean’s hand pumped his erection.

“You need my consent, Cas?” Dean’s voice growled out from the brilliant whiteness that suffused everything.

Thrust.

“You’ve got it. I say yes.”

“Oh, Dean!”

“Yes, Castiel,” Dean groaned. “ _Yes_.”

Grace and soul exploded, shattered, combined and merged and mixed until were no longer two entities, only one, spectacular and beautiful. Castiel wordlessly cried his ecstasy as he came, orgasm so intense he shook, clenched and released as pleasure and magic and the feeling of _Dean_ rocked through every cell of his vessel, through every iota of his grace, melted him with unadulterated delight.

“Castiel!” Dean crumpled into him, thrusting weakly through his own orgasm. “Castiel…my angel...”

The incandescent brightness of their merged essence faded. The room seemed very dark by contrast, spots dancing in Castiel’s eyes. They slumped back into the wall, limbs tangled, Dean’s body heavy atop his. Feeling oddly shy, Castiel removed the pillowcase from around Dean’s head. Dean didn’t even react, eyes closed, body still, panting as cool sweat trickled along his forehead. Castiel could feel Dean, sense him. It was not like when Castiel stretched out his grace before and could feel Dean’s soul. There was no longer any need to search for Dean, no longer any edge dividing grace from soul. In place of two separate entities with a shared affinity, there was only one being, an amalgam, a mystical marriage between mortal and angel that produced an entire new entity.

Castiel had feared that he would feed, vampire-like, on Dean’s soul, as Lucifer and the fallen had done to those who swore service to them. He’d feared that he would puppet Dean like a vessel, as Michael would have done had Dean said ‘yes’ to him. Neither had happened. Bits of Castiel’s grace glimmered within the human shell that contained Dean, and pieces of Dean’s soul gleamed golden nestled within Castiel’s vessel. What Dean felt, Castiel sensed, almost as if he felt it himself – but not quite. He could still tell which were his feelings, which were Dean’s. They’d not lost their individuality, for which he was profoundly grateful. He could sense that Dean was confused but happy, spent and exhausted and looking forward to crawling into bed and holding Castiel close all night long. He could tell that Dean needed him, and wanted him, and loved him. He was sure – he could feel – that Dean could sense the equivalent about Castiel.

They didn’t move for a long time.

Somewhere in the town, a church bell tolled midnight.

Castiel yawned.

Dean started. “Did you just...?”

“I’m tired, Dean,” Castiel mumbled against Dean’s shoulder. “Can we go to sleep now?”

He felt the bob of Dean’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “What the fuck did I agree to, Cas?”

**Author's Note:**

> (this note added 7/10/15) OMFG the incredibly awesome [LethalGirlsClub (now LethalQueerWitch on Tumblr)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/featherfluff/pseuds/LethalGirlsClub) created fanart for this story and I'm so damn excited!! You should check it out on her Tumblr [cause seriously OMG SQUEE](http://lethalqueerwitch.tumblr.com/post/123743041544) \- Dean and Cas, borderline but not quite NSFW.
> 
> Part 7...coming sometime! Not sure when! No longer gonna make definite promises on such things! Hopefully soon! Exclamation point!
> 
> Part 7 is the last story I have even vaguely planned. If you've been reading along and have even the kernel of an idea of something you'd like to see, do share! :)
> 
> Part 7 is now up! Continued in "Moonlight and Warer."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(art for) There But For the Grace of Castiel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4482323) by [featherfluff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherfluff/pseuds/featherfluff)




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